


Fate Will Forgive Us

by SecondhandSoldier (Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, But there are other POV's, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Focuses on Carwood, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not quite apocalypse fic, Obliviousness, Slow Burn, Violence, WWIII, World Building Stuff, because it's war, but not really, devolved into fanfic, longer fic, no sexy times though, started off as an original story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam/pseuds/SecondhandSoldier
Summary: Easy Company, the spearhead of the Invasion that will start WW3. They're the best of the best, trained to within an inch of their lives. Some came for revenge, others because they hadn't got a choice.Follows Carwood Lipton, and the rag tag band of men who become family, through a war not all of them want to fight, but all know they need to. With every drop there's the chance they'll lose themselves or each other, but there's a job to be done, and they're damn well going to do it.





	1. The tide is coming

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction since I was about twelve, but here I am dipping my toe in once again. 
> 
> This idea started off as an original story, but I was too lazy to create my own characters for it, and rather fell in love with the idea of slotting Easy Company and co into it. So I have. That being said, due to it being an original world build, there is very little shadowing of the plot from Band of Brothers. There's a ghost of it, but it's slim. That's why Speirs is there from the beginning, not much much later on. 
> 
> Also, bare with the story, it'll start of a little slow, I tend to ramble some, and I do love a bit of scene setting. Especially when it's an entirely new world. If you have any questions, I have created a tumblr very recently, as in, yesterday. You can find me at therealfakequebec. Come hit me up.
> 
> Updates will be about once a week, roughly, and I have a few chapters prewritten already, which means I have time to write others. On top of that, this isn't beta'd, I barely edit them myself, so any mistakes feel free to point out. Comments and criticism is appreciated. Enjoy.

By the time of the Invasion, Carwood Lipton was glad that the rest of his family was long dead. It was a terrible thought to have, and he knew it. Still, that didn't stop it lurking in the back of his mind when he heard of the horrors that they would have faced.

They would have been dead anyway, and he along with them, if they had lived long enough. The Invaders dropped incendiaries on Huntington, in the middle of the night, anyone remaining in the town at that point would have been burnt to a crisp. Sometimes, when everything around Carwood is quiet, he begins to think about the 'what ifs'. What if he and his family had still be in Huntington when they dropped those bombs - he'd never had reached his twenty fourth birthday.  
Instead, his father died when he was only eleven, too long ago to truly correlate to the tragedy, but to not count it was to push his father out from the family, and Carwood wouldn't do that. His brother had been killed in the early days of the '30's. When resources had taken a nosedive, and food had been so scarce they had been lucky to have a loaf of bread in the pantry. Jack had taken to the streets of Charleston along with thousands of other protestors. He had never come back.

Carwood and his mother, who was parslysed from the waist down, a side effect of the same car crash the killed his father, had spent four more years in Huntington after Jack's death. His mother ran the boarding house - usually empty - and he worked at the local mechanics - very few customers came - and they lived life as normally as they could.  
The Mama Lipton got ill.

She wasn't the only one in town that fell ill that winter, but her already weak state meant it hit her hard. She was bedridden to days after it first sunk in it's claws, after a week the Doctor told Carwood he should say his goodbyes. It was two days till Christmas when she told him to get the Priest to come bless her, and on Christmas he relented - Father Davis came not an hour after the phone call. 

Carwood made soup that afternoon, his Fathers recipe, and he and his mother ate the last of the bread along with it. The watched the President make his speech on the old television set, the first time they'd turned it on in over a month, and then he carried his mother to bed.

On the 26th of December 1938, Evelyn Lipton was found dead in her bed. The Doctor told him she had died peacefully, even with the sickness running through her veins. Carwood didn't have much choice to do anything other than believe him.

He dug her grave himself, as he had with his brother and father.

That night was the first night in his life where he got so drunk that he passed out on the kitchen floor, and didn't remember a thing of it the next morning. His plans after that were to do one thing; get the hell out of Huntington. This took quite a bit longer than he had first thought it would.

First of all he'd had to round up all his mother things, and then depending on what use or memory they held to him, decide whether to keep them or burn them. In the keep pile; some photo albums, all her jewelry, her favorite coat and his fathers old Zippo Lighter (which Carwood rather suspected had been stolen). Everything else he burnt in a large towering bonfire, along with Jack's old things and other useless household items.

He didn't leave the house for an entire week after that, and by the time he did, there was neither a drop nor crumb of food or alcohol left. 

Two weeks after his mothers death, he still was no further from Huntington than he had been before she died, and the middle of January was crawling ever closer. In the third week he packed up all his stuff in one duffel bag. The stuff of his mothers safe between his clothes, three packs of cigarettes crammed into one of the side pockets, even though he didn't smoke, and a bottle of good whiskey in the other pocket.  
In the fourth week, he brought a car, enough gasoline to get him to the nearest city (and then some), and left the remains of a slowly blazing Lipton Boarding House in his wake. The Zippo lighter tucked snug in his jacket pocket.

 

By the end of January he was out of West Virginia, and was determined to get to North Carolina at the very least. It was at a rest stop on a very lonely stretch of highway when he saw the poster.

He stopped for a few minutes just looking at it, squinting in the noon sun, before moving past into the small roadside cafe. The waitress was cute, and maybe in a different lifetime he would have flirted a little, flashed her a small smile at the least. But then and there all he could do was order some pancakes and a mug of coffee - 'as black and strong as you make it' - along with the tiniest twitch of the lips in her direction.

The pancakes were like sawdust, and with the shortages of flour in the region Carwood would not have been surprised to find that sawdust was an ingredient, but once drowned in maple syrup he managed to swallow them down. The coffee wasn't black, and wasn't strong. 

On his way out, he saw the poster again, and stopped, again, to stare at it for a few minutes. An old man, with a balding head and stringy white whiskers crowding his face stopped next to him with a secretive old smile on his face.

"I 'eard it's better than being a civilian these days." He said.

"Have you really?" Carwood said back to him.

"Anythings better than being a civilian these days." The man groused, "No decent coffee here, but apparently they do it good and strong there."

This Carwood agreed with, and he expressed this notion with a swift nod of the head, before he turned on his heel and walked back to his car. The man cackled and entered the cafe. 

In minutes he was rolling out of the rest stop, and back onto the lonely highway. The poster at the forefront of his mind, along with the old man's words; 'better than being a civilian these days'. Carword was a civilian, had been for all of his life, and he hadn't had a decent cup of joe or a good meal in over five years. From his standpoint, it could hardly get worse.

By the time he crossed the state line he mind was made up, he was joining the military. 

 

Carwood had just finished basic training when two things happened; One, he fell ill with pneumonia, and Two, the invasion occurred.

Now these two things couldn't have had worse timing, but as it was, Carwood was stuck in hospital whilst his country was being attacked by a bunch of bastards who thought they could take what wasn't theirs.

After a week, the Doctors said he wasn't going to survive much longer. They gave him a week more, two at most.

"Might as well discharge me and let me fight then." He told them. They told him that wasn't an option.

"You're too weak." They said, "You wouldn't be able to lift a weapon, let alone fight off the enemy"

(And that was what They were called. 'The Enemy'. Half became no one wanted to make it real by calling them who they were, the other half because no one actually knew who they were)

"I'd at least die doing something useful." He didn't pout when he said this, not on his life.

"You are being useful by sitting here, dying without being a hindrance to someone who can actually hold a gun."

That had been the end of that discussion. 

Carwood was staying in the hospital, he was probably going to die in this hospital and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He would have much rather stayed a civilian, he thought to himself, at least then he would be useless either way.

When Carwood didn't die after two weeks, which surprised the Doctors no end, the told him he would probably kick it after another week and left him be. When they came back at the end of that week and found him still very much alive, they were stumped.

"You just won't die." The Doctor didn't look very pleased.

"Usually that's a good thing."

"It is, just means we were wrong, and no one likes being wrong." Carwood appreciated the honesty. "But I guess this means we'll have to move you to another ward."

When he looked at the ward he was already in, a large grey room filled with dying, or already dead, military men all sick as dogs, Carwood could see no problems with this. Infact, he figured that it was some kind of reward, a 'hey you didn't die when we thought you would, let's move you someplace less grim' kind of reward.

The Doctor left without another word, leaving Carwood feeling rather pleased and the soldier in the bed to the left coughing up his lung.

"I'm going to a new ward." Carwood told him with a smile. The solider didn't reply, just coughed up some blood. Carwood nodded along with him, before signalling a tired looking nurse to come tend to his neighbor. The nurse didn't look very happy, and just gave the man a spoonful of something bright pink. 

"It's kids medicine." She told Carwood, "But it's the best we can do for him right now."

"That's okay, I'm going to a new ward." He smiled brightly at her. She didn't smile back.

"Fucking drugged up soldiers," She muttered as she walked away, "All nutcases I swear."

Whether he was meant to hear or not he didn't know, but the words kind of put a damper on his sunny mood. It made sense, he supposed, he doubted he would act like this normally, especially not when someone was coughing up a lung next to him. As it was though, at that moment he didn't care, and not caring is a whole lot less painful then caring, so he paid it no thought, and went to sleep.

When he woke up, he was feeling decidedly less cheerful and a lot like he'd drunk a few gallons of whiskey. He also felt slightly seasick, but this probably came from the rocking of his bed (which had wheels apparently, who knew?) as he was pushed down a long hospital corridor.

"Am I going to the new ward?" He asked, and he sounded so hoarse, that if someone had told him right then and there he smoked 40 packs a day, he would have believed them.

"Yes." The Doctor pushing him replied, "Somewhere where you shouldn't die anymore."

"Ah." Was all Carwood said, sobered by the thought that everyone left in the ward was going to die. He remained silent for the rest of his trip.

The new ward was smaller than the other one, but still quite large, as was the norm with military hospitals. It also had more windows, which on one hand meant more light, and on the other meant that at certain times of the day large rays of sunlight found it's way right into your eyes. And didn't move. At least not for some time.

There were less doctors in this ward, and less nurses. In fact, there was less everything. Less people, less doctors, less medicine, less entertainment, less space, everything was less, except for the windows. There were a lot more windows.

Carwood was there for a week before he realised that he wasn't ill anymore. His lungs felt better, he could lift himself up rather than needing help, and could reach the glass of water by his bedside table. He was fine, right as rain. More to the point - he could go out and fight The Enemy.  
But the hospital didn't discharge him.  
"But I'm fine." He told his neighbour to the bed to the left, "I don't get why I can't go."

"Beats me." The man said, shrugging his shoulder, "I've been fine for weeks now and they still won't let me go."

"Well I've been here for two whole months," Said Carwoods bed neighbour to the right, "And I've been healthy as anything for six of those weeks and I'm still here."  
"Six weeks? And they still haven't let you go?" 

"Yup. I'm beginning to think they like us too much." Neighbour to the right threw Carwood a crooked smile, "But I ain't complaining, from what I've heard about the fighting that's going on out there, this place is like paradise."

Neighbour to the left nodded along sagely to Neighbour to the Rights words. He dug around on the little cabinet to his right, came up with a newspaper, and chucked it at Carwood. 

"Take a look at the front page of that."

Carwood did, and regretted it instantly. There, on the front page of this newpaper, from two states away from WV, was picture of Huntington burning. 'No survivors' he picked out from the blur of text, 'Midnight massacre' also jumped out at him. With tears pricking at his eyes he lobbed the newspaper off the end of his bed. This action surprised not only himself, but his two bed neighbours.

"The hell?" Neighbour to the right exclaimed.

"Why'd you throw it?" Neighbour to the left asked.

Carwood didn't say anything, just buried his face in his hands and cried for the first time since he mother died.

 

Two months into his stay at the new ward, and Carwood was beginning to settle into his new life. He hadn't seen a proper doctor in almost two weeks, and like himself, everyone else on the ward was more bored than ill at this point.

"This is the place for people who ain't sick," George Luz, aka Neighbour to the Right, "But that the army can't be arsed to deal with."

"But it's mostly civilians in here." Carwood countered without looking up from his crossword.

"Well then the government can't be arsed to deal with then." Luz said, "It doesn't really matter though does it, we're stuck in here and they ain't letting us out."

"Oh shut it Luz." Joe Toye, aka, Neighbour to the Left, said from the other side of Carwood. 

Since that day when Carwood had discovered the fate of his hometown, he'd become good friends with his two bed neighbours. Luz was a small energetic man, with unruly dark hair and a permanent crooked smile that showed off the straightest, whitest teeth he'd ever seen. Toye was more serious than Luz, although he always smiled indulgently at the other mans antics.

Like Carwood, both of them were military, the only others in the ward in seemed. And also like Carwood they were just out of basic, and perfectly healthy enough to go back out and fight.

"I punched a guy and broke my knuckles." Toye had told Carwood, "They fixed them up all fine and I've been ready to go ever since but they don't seem to want to let us."

"I was the guy he punched." Luz had related proudly after Toye had told his story, "And now we're the best of friends."

Carwood had only raised an eyebrow at the both of them, before he had gone back to eating his food. The two of them were utterly ridiculous, but he had never met people he'd wanted to be friends with so desperately in his life. Luckily they were quite obliging in that matter. The three of them were 'bestest of friends' now, according to Luz, and really it made life quite pleasant if Carwood was honest.

Without Luz and Toye, who were a constant source of entertainment, with their bickering and joking, Carwood thought he probably would have died of boredom long before the month was over.

"Oh hey, Lip." Luz leaned over his bed rails to waft at the air near Carwood, "I think Nix is coming to visit today."

Nix was the only visitor the three of them ever got, that wasn't a nurse or doctor. When he had first visited, the day after Carwoods breakdown, the three of them had been surprised to say the least. He wore military MOD's of a kind, but with hair that was definitely not regulation, aviators perched on the bridge of his nose, and a bottle of whiskey in his hands.

("Who are you?" Luz had asked.  
"I'm an Intelligence Officer with the MIlitary." Nix had replied, before slumping down in a chair at the foot of Luz's bed.  
"He doesn't look very intelligent." Toye had hissed to Carwood, from where he sat on Carwood's cabinet. Carwood had smacked on the head.)

"That'll be nice." He said honestly. Nix's visits were another thing that kept Carwood sane. He brought news from the outside world, and whilst he was sure it wasn't voluntary, Carwood appreciated it all the same.

"I wonder if he'll bring any goodies again." Toye remarked from the floor. Carwood blinked and looked down at him.

"On the floor again?" He asked. Luz cackled from behind them, and clambered from his bed to walk over to Toye.

"Push ups again? I'm disappointed Toye, no variety!" Luz shook his head, mimicking the voice of one of the doctors who came to visit every once in a while. 

"It's the easiest thing to do with this little space." The three of them had taken up calisthenics and workout to keep themselves somewhat fit. And it have them something to do at least. For the most part, the other residents of the ward ignored the workout, but sometimes someone told them to stop it, or to keep it down.

"Jogging on the spot? Sit ups? Honestly Toye use your imaginat-" Luz was cut off by the door at the end of the ward slamming open, and a tall, dark haired figure walking through. Nix.

Nix, or 'Lewis Nixon III' as they had been told he was actually called, was an intelligence officer from the military (contrary to what he looked like according to Toye). Although they put his talents to work by making him visit three healthy, bored, just passed basic soldiers in a hospital.

He brought news for them all, and it was strange news. Like how Luz was going to learn how to use a radio, and then spent the next weeks teaching Luz how to operate a radio. Sometimes he'd complain about how hard it was to get a hold of alcohol these days, or what lengths he had to go to to get some smokes.

Today, he looked the same as ever, combat boots, olive green military shirt and trousers, aviators and messy dark hair. In his hand a bottle of alcohol, and a serious expression on his face. Carwood has no idea how he gets into the hospital, let along the ward.

He draws a chair up the his usual place, in between Carwood and Toyes beds, and waits for Luz to scramble on Toye's bed (Or Toyes lap), before he starts talking.

"Well boys, looks like it's your lucky day." He said with a grin. Carwood leans forward eagerly, Toye raised an eyebrow, Luz swipes Nixon's whiskey and takes a swig.

"Lucky day?" He says once he's swallowed, "Are they finally letting us out of this shithole?"

"Yeah. Invasions ended. Looks like they're shipping you off to England."

There's a stagnant pause. Amongst other things, Nix had told them the progress of the invasion of America (and Britain and Canada and other places like that) and what was happening concerning the civilians and all that. But none of them had expected it to be over already.

"It's over?" Toye broke the silence first, shocked look still on his face.

"Seems so. Bastards pack up and fled from what I hear. Left a mess all over the world though. And the world was already in a fucking state as it was."

"Jesus Christ, they just gave up then? Just like that?"

"I doubt they fucking just gave up Luz." Toye hissed, and Carwood nodded.

"Not given up." Nixon corrects, "Fled, regrouped. They'll be back, and this time we'll be prepared. Or at least, that's what I'm told. So they're shipping you out." 

It was a possibility none of them had thought possible, and now that it was here, none of them could quite process the idea.

"Apparently they've formed some sort of Alliance." Nixon continued, "The government that is, with Britain and Canada - called it BRAMCA, or something of the like. They're setting up places to put the survivors of the Invasion and the military, and are getting prepared for whatever's next."

"And we're going to England." Carwood murmured.

"And we're going to England." Nix repeats, and there's a light in his eyes, Carwood could't quite tell why, but it's there, "Might take some time though, so be prepared for a wait."

And a wait is what they were in for. It took two weeks for an official military member to come and tell them they were leaving - officially this time. Another week for the Jeep to come pick them up.

It feels odd to take off the hospital pajama's he's been wearing for the past few months, and to put on the army things the Officer left them. He shoves his personal affects, few as they are, into his duffel, and with Luz and Toye, he leaves.

They haven't been outside properly in months, and the sun on his face is like being reborn. It's glorious and he loves it. Toye breathes in the fresh air heavily, and Luz whoops. Nix, who was the one to come collect them, rolls his eyes and ushered them into the Jeep. Carwood in shotgun, Luz and Toye in the back.

The Jeep rumbled to life, and it pulls away from the dirt road in front of the hospital before thundering down the road, kicking up gravel and dust as it goes. It's open top, with the side windows rolled down, so Carwood has to crush his eyes and mouth shut to protect them. He coughs and splutters anyway, and small tears prick at his ears. But he's too happy to be away from the hospital in the middle of bumfuck no where to complain. Luz and George have no such qualms.

It turns out that they really were in the middle of no where, as it takes an hour of Nixon's mad man driving, which had Carwood clutching the edge of his seat, to reach a road that's not just dirt. And then after that it takes another hour or two before they see what appears to be a long stretch of black and grey on the horizon. 

"Whats that?" He asks Nixon, who turns his head lazily to look first at Carwood, then at the grey mass. 

"That's are destination Lip. LINCOLN #5."

"LINCOLN #5?"

"BRAMCA'S solution to where to put people and how to make sure everyone is where they need to be. Also a military base." Is Nixon's reply. Carwood just gapes like a goldfish at him, Luz and Toye don't look that much better.

"What?" He says.

"You'll see." Nixon says back, he then kicks the car up a notch and speeds up. Luz whoops. Carwood holds his seat tighter. As they zoom closer the grey mass becomes clearer, and the closer they get the easier it is to see the sea. Carwood is distracted by the glittering blue, stretching for miles every direction. It's been forever since he saw the sea. 

The his gaze comes snapping back, to the edge of the water. Where several large US Military Destroyers laze in the sun, smaller but no less formidable ships surround it. Then he looks at what was, just a few minutes ago, a grey lump on the horizon. 

It's huge, that much he can tell, although from where he is just next to it's entrance, it was hard to accurately gauge quite how big. The fence surrounding it is several meters high, chain link with barbed wire curled on top. Every two foot or so, a blue wire runs across the fence, electrified, or so Carwood guesses. 

In the two corners visible to him, he can see large watchtowers, and men in combat OD's resting through the large windows.

Nix ushers them out the car, and they pile out with their bags, and a young man, also in military uniform, rushes from the entrance way, takes Nix's keys and takes off with the Jeep. Carwood watched in surprise as it heads off the way they came. Nix doesn't look bothered.

"Come on Lip." He tugs on Carwoods arm, and lead the three of them to the Entrance Checkpoint. The man in the box, a Lance Corporal by the stripes on his uniform, looks over to them. 

"Sir." He nods smartly, and pressed a button that automatically opened the large gates.

"Holloway," Nixon nods in reply, "Know where Sink wants those shipping out?"

"No Sir. I'd take them over to Winters if I were you though."

"Like i'd take these poor bastards to Dick, they're going to England not France. Whatever." Nix rolls his eyes at the kid, "Know where I can commandeer a vehicle?"

"Should be one to the left there," Holloway pointed down the main road of the compound.

"Thanks kid." Nix leads them the direction that the Lance Corporal gestured. Sure enough, a jeep, similar to the one they'd used to get here, sits parked five minutes down the road. They jump in (Luz gets shotgun this time) and head off. 

Carwood is amazed at what they see. Inside this large compound, are smaller ones, filled with tents and what looks like mobile homes, crammed together in the tight space. And there are so many of these large sectors, all with people milling around inside. Outside those fenced in communities, are military vehicles and personnel, no civilians from what he can see. Inside one he catches site of a line of tanks, and his breath caught as he remembered the situation at hand. They drive for 10 minutes, the three of them taking in the sight around them. It's crazy. Carwood wonders if maybe he isn't dreaming, but something tells him that this is real.

They pull to a stop outside one such compound, to the right of them this time. Next to the sea rather than inland, and with the long side of it's rectangular shape facing them instead of the shorter side. Like with all the compounds, there's a tall wire gate, and some men manning a box waiting for ID.

Inside this compound, Carwood sees men. Lots and lots of men, some in OD's, others in more casual military gear like him, Luz and Toye, others in civilian clothing. 

Nix inches the jeep towards the gate. The men in the checkpoint box look at him. He looks right back. There's a minute of silence in which they all just stare at each other. The men in the box fold first, one presses a button and the gates open.

Nix settles back into his seat triumphantly, and they cruise through. People step back from the car, and fold back behind them as they pass through the crowd. It's almost like being Moses, but not quite. Nix steers them right up to what looks like the beginning of a line that's filtering though into a large building.

"Get out." He tells them. They do as he says and get out. There's a ginger man waiting with a clipboard at the entrance to the building. He looks at Nix with a mixture of annoyance and fondness. 

"Nix what have I told you about cutting lines." He admonishes, but NIx doesn't look too bothered. Carwood didn't think the man thought the words would do much anyway, he just said them for appearance sake.

"Dick what have I told you about me not caring." Nix says back, "Anyway, I've got you a present this time."

"Oh?" The man - Dick - fixes his gaze on the three of them, "And who are they?"

"Carwood Lipton." Carwood said, saluting the man, "And this is Joe Toye and George Luz."

Luz and Toye salute too, slightly more sloppy than Carwood's, but it's hard to blame them. None of them have saluted in months.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lt. Winters, you have any ID on you?"

"Of course they don't have any fucking ID on them Dick, they've been sitting in that god damned hospital for three months doing fuck all. They're going to England."

Winters raises an eyebrows but didn't say anything else on the matter.

"Head on in then." He pointed behind him into the building, "Go to one of the aides in there, they'll get you sorted, tell them where you're going and your name."

The three of them head into the building. Long lines of men spider in the space, and they join the three shortest lines. It takes a while, but Carwood is the first to reach an aide.  
The man is short and pale, with a screwed up face that makes him look like a ferret. He had a laptop and printer type thing on the desk in front of him, along with a lot of paperwork and one black biro pen.

"Know where you're headed?" He drones. His voice is as monochromatic as his looks.

"England." Carwood replies. The man taps something into his laptop. 

"Do you have a name?"

"Carwood. Carwood Lipton." There's more typing, and a bit of clicking, before the man seems to get what he wants. He scans the page quickly, before hitting a few buttons to print it out. It comes slowly out the printer. 

"You're one lucky son of a bitch." He tells Carwood, "England and by Chinook too." 

He scribbles a signature on the first bit of paper, before flicking the large pile of paperwork on the desk. He pulls out a small sheaf of it, stamps it with dark blue, before handing it to him. He also gets a lanyard with an ID, although it has no personal details on, just; BRAMCA. ENGLAND. MONTY #5. Carwood doesn't know what any of that means.

"Get moving then." He pushes Carwood behind him, towards three large open doors that lead out onto what looks like a dock. He starts towards them, but pauses when he hears Luz shout his name. 

Luz and Toye hurry towards him, both carrying the same papers as he, and both with a lanyard around their necks too.

"Monty 5?" He asks them. They nod.

"Chinook?" Toye asks right back. Carwood nods.

"Wonderful." Luz said with a grin, "Looks like we're all sticking together then."

Carwood laughs, and once again sets off for the doors. Luz and Toye at his heels. They exit into blistering wind and the taste of sea salt on their tongues. 

There's little space in the crowd of people, and they have no clue where they're going which doesn't make things easier. Carwood takes the lead, and it almost feels like he's an older brother again, helping Jack through the crowds back home. It's been a long time since he's thought of home, but he lets one last bittersweet memory flicker before he leaves here, America, for what might be good.

They head for what seems to be the airfield, and the people thins out a bit. More were heading for the docks then where the helos were waiting to spool up.

There are a couple of official looking men, with more stripes on their OD's than most men, and so Carwood decides to ask one of them. He grabs a Lt. and queries him as to where to go. The Lt. with a large smile on his face, points them to one of the Chinooks and turns back to the crowd.

Toye takes the point then, pushing through people to get to the Chinook. They find a jeep waiting there, and with it is Nix, Winters and another man.

"Sgt Lipton." Winters greets him, waving off their salute. "Good to see you made it, and Cpl Luz and Cpl Toye as well."

"Indeed Sir. Are you coming to England with us too?"

"So it seems." Winters turns to the third man standing with them, "Alright Harry, get these three in and then we'll be able to go."

The third man, Harry as Winters calls him, grins and squints at Winters, although he could also be squinting at the sun which happened to fall right behind Winters.

"Can do Dick." He then grins at Carwood, "Let's get going then eh, we've been waiting for you three for ages." 

He takes them round the back of the Chinook, and hurries them up the ramp, where he then seats them, paying no attention to the grumbles of the other men in the helo.

"Ah can it fella's," He tells them, "We'll be going soon. Never seen a group of men who weren't English be so desperate to get out of America."

That gets some chitters, as Harry leaves the helo, to go confer with Winters presumably. Leaving Carwood, Luz and Toye to face down the rest of the men in the Chinook.  
"Monty 5?" Someone calls out. It's a Philly accent.

"Yeah."

"You're with us then." And Carwood can now see the mans face, squareish, with dark eyes and a shock of brown hair, not dissimilar in color to Luz's. 

"Seems so. Carwood Lipton." He nods at the man, the man takes in Carwoods face, then his lack of rank.

"Is that Pvt. Carwood Lipton?" He edges, and Carwood is about to reply when Luz jumps in for him.

"Sgt. Carwood Lipton actually. So you better watch your mouth."

"Alright then." He lifts his hands in surrender, "Was just making sure."

"Damn right." Luz mutters, "Cpl Luz, and this handsome brooding man next to be is Cpl Toye. And who might you lot be."

"Guarnere," The Philly man said, sounding amused, "And I don't think we have enough time to introduce everyone, but the rest here is Easy Company."

"Easy Company." Carwood twists the words in his mouth, "Pleased to meet you all."

"Charmed." Another man spits, obviously not impressed with the long wait.

"Calm down Leibgott," Winters strolls into the Chinook, taking a seat with Nixon and Harry. "We're about to spool off. There's be time for introductions later."

The helo is silent after that, and all that can be heard is the pilots voice through the intercom, and the whirring noise as he helo lifts off and into the air.

Carwood looks down at the papers in his hand, scanning the words but not really taking it in. He'll never know, nor suspect that if he'd not had Nix intervene, he'd have been headed for England still, but to MONTY #2, and that Toye would be off to Hawaii, to one of the compounds there. Luz had been destined for somewhere in Europe. But in the end, it didn't really matter. He was ready to see if that old man had been right, is the military better than civilian life.


	2. Swallowing the Ground

The Mobile home is small, and when the wind howls and rain belts it down, he can hear it thud on the roof and whistle through gaps in the wondow panes. But, he likes it.  
There is just enough room for 6 grown men, although they share a bathroom. There's a tiny kitchen, with a malfunctioning oven and a microwave that beeps too loud. The television doesn't work properly, and there isn't quite enough couch space. But it's home now, and the fireplace works and there's coffee that's like gasoline, so Carwood isn't complaining.

He roommates, there's five of them, are mostly considerate. He rooms with Luz, and it's an easy friendship that makes sharing the three by four meter bedroom mostly not a problem. The other four have problems, but nothing too bad. 

Sisk and Webster share the largest room, simply due to the fact that Sisk was unbeatable at rock, paper and scissors. ('It's mind tricks Lip, I'm telling ya, that kid has something going on in there') Sisk, who has been affectionately dubbed Skinny due to his small, slim frame, is cheerful and borders on cute, but Carwood would never say so. Not to anyone. Webster is quiet for the most part, thoughtful on the other, and damn smart, but happened to tend to keeping the bearable part of that intelligence hidden most of the time. Instead he quoted Shakespeare and listed random facts to fill silences.

The other two, Penkala and Skip Muck, were troublesome, with the kind of young mischievous sparks in their eyes that Carwood never had. But they're good men, always there with a witty comment or amusing story.

Carwood loves them like brothers. As he does with most of the company.

When they landed in England, it had been raining. It continued to rain most days, and the ground was usually marshy and the skies grey. It was nothing like America, and for this Carwood was grateful. It was harder to be homesick in a place that was nothing like home.

The compound they called home, MONTY #5, the smallest compound BRAMCA had, also known as the Ambrose Complex, was home to 2500 people. Mostly military, some civilian. When put into perspective, it was tiny, as the compound they had left America had capabilities to house up to 300,000 people. Ambrose would be pushing it if it held 3000.   
It was here that Carwood had learnt more about BRAMCA, and the compounds themselves. Webster spewed random facts all the time, and it hadn't been hard to point him in a direction of which facts to say.

He knew, of course, that BRAMCA, was an alliance between Britain, America and Canada, made during the Invasion in order to survive. He hadn't know it came from the first two words of each country. After the Invasion, which left already severely depleted populations with 30% of what they once had been, BRAMCA had done what is could to collect the survivors and build a place to shelter them - the compounds. Britain had gotten 5, Canada and America 10 each. There were 5 others dotted around the place.  
In Britain, they called them MONTY's. 

They were safe, or as safe as was possible nowadays. A mix of military and civilian populations, and everyone lived in these little mobile homes, and either worked or stayed at home. 

As it turned out, the old man at the rest stop had been right. Life was better in the military than as a civilian. As a member of the army, he could go pretty much where he liked, between compound sectors certainly - not outside the compound - and into the docks and airfield. He could leave his little mobile home without worry, and there was no curfew for him. Even if his training was grueling, at least he was never bored. There was good food too, and coffee. 

Often he saw children, sitting on the steps or balconies of their homes, not allowed to leave it's premises. Sometimes he gave them his chocolate ration, he'd never been a chocolate fan, or maybe a spare lighter he had picked up. Some men gave them cigarettes. Carwood did not.

Carwood gave his cigarettes to other people, and it was less giving, and more trading. Trading was a big part of life in these compounds, as it would be anywhere he supposed.  
Luz, who was great at getting things off of people, would often give pilfered things to other Easy members in order to get more chocolate. This chocolate he'd give to Muck or Penkala in trade for their nuts or extra ciggie ration. Toye stored up and traded a months worth of ciggarette rations for a pair of brass knuckles from one of the sailors at the docks. Webster gave Leibgott his ciggarettes so that Leibgott didn't find pointless things to argue with him about - everyone was thankful for this arrangement.  
Carwood gave his to whoever looked like they needed it most, and if he had spares, he gave them to Speirs. 

Speirs lived next door, all by himself in the mobile home, because his bunkmate had decided that they weren't going to stick around and put themselves up in other places. No one had put that back, because Speirs had a reputation, and the rumours were enough to instill fear in most people.  
Carwood gave him cigarettes because he liked the smile Speirs gave him.

Webster called him crazy from behind whatever novel he had stolen, and Penkala would confer with Muck before agreeing that 'Lip you're the goddamn craziest son of a bitch in Easy'. Luz would roll his eyes and toss Carwood another pack of cigarettes with a wink. Carwood tucked them in his pockets and never said a word.

 

From the beginning, not the Chinook ride exactly, but from when Easy became official in England, they were a family. A highly dysfunctional family that argued too much and were far too much trouble for what they're worth, but family none the less.

The higher ups at Ambrose had put Easy, and Speirs, in Sector C (or Currahee as it became known), along with a few random military personnel and some civilians.   
They took up the majority of the sector, and Carwood was almost certain that the civilians were some of the best fed in the compound, because the amount of times Easy boys traded rations for little things from the civvies was insane. Mostly it was things like laundry, or cleaning. Sometimes it was books (Webster), clothing repairs (Muck and Penkala), 'witnesses' (Luz and Leibgott) or alcohol (everyone). 

The witnesses Carwood was confused by at first, but found out quickly that the sole reason was Sobel. If someone did something suspicious, they needed the civilians to back up their stories to Sobel.

And Sobel. Well. Just his name made Carwood grit his teeth. Fucking Sobel, that long faced, bastard was another reason Easy were such a tight knit group.  
In times such as it was, training would have been stressful anyway, but Sobel made it take the cake. Every few days they were forced to run around the camp perimeter, which lengthways was about 17miles, and about 10miles shortways, so essentially they were running two marathons. Sometimes this was in full equipment. Sometimes it was not. Sometimes they were made to do it without drinking once, other times they were not. He even made them do it in pairs (think three legged race) once or twice.   
They thanked their lucky stars it was flat ground.

Sobel followed behind on every run, most of the times he was in a jeep, every once in a while he ran it himself.

Easy also did calisthenics everyday, push ups and jumping jacks in the hundreds. They were made to carry each other, and carry and run with each other, and then carry each other further and further.

Sobel did everything he could think of, including having them run on full stomachs. Carwood knew for a fact that more than one person lost their dinner than run. There were more than a few midnight swims in freezing cold British water. No one drowned though, Carwood wondered what god was looking upon them for that.  
Carwood noticed that everything Easy had to do, Speirs did too. Voluntarily.

Sobel was also hard on the rules, not that it stopped Easy. They traded, swapped and fraternized right under Sobel's nose, and whilst he never caught them, he punished them all the same.

More walks, more runs, more swims. Always more, more, more until they couldn't take it any longer. And then they were asked to push for more. 

Winters was right along with them, everything Easy did he did too. And they loved him for it. Sobel was the common enemy, but Winters was Easy's hero. 

Carwood wasn't the only one who thought that maybe, although they hated doing more for Sobel when he demanded it, he didn't mind doing it for Winters when he asked. The whole of Easy looked up to Winters, and with good reason. Still, there were times when it was hard to bear.

"Mans the fucking devil, Lip." Luz growled at Carwood, chucking him an ice pack. Grimacing in agreement, he turned to Webster and pressed the icepack against the mans bruised face. Bright blue eyes stared back at him, dazed and not really taking everything in. 

"We're lucky Leibgott didn't jump him," Skinny agreed, "Hell, I was ready to join him if he did."

"It wouldn't have helped the situation," Carwood interjected, holding Webs head still.

"Oh come off it Lip, nothings going to help the situation. The situation was fucking helpless." Luz was fuming, slamming the freezer door shut, and glaring vaguely in Carwood's direction. "He almost killed Web."

"M'kay." Webster mumbled.

"Shut up Web." Luz said.

"M'Kay." Webster said. Then he fell silent again.

Carwood agreed with Luz, hell, he agreed with Skinny too, but he knew he was right. Attacking Sobel wouldn't have done anything but made it worse. They were lucky only Web had been hurt, and that is wasn't too serious.

"When he chucked Leibgott's bayonet at him, jesus christ, my heart flew out my mouth I swear to god. And the-"

"And then he took the rifle and smashed him around the head with it, yes Luz. I was there." Carwood spoke through gritted teeth. This, he thought, was the worst of Sobel, it had to be. Any further and someone would end up dead, and it wasn't the Dearest Captain.

Six months they'd been training under Sobel, and it culminated at this. Webster, who really, Carwood didn't think the man could really hurt much more than a fly, in a near death experience with the man who was supposed to keep him alive.

"Something has to be done." Skinny said. It had been on all their minds.

"I know." Carwood was resigned when he said it, but he said it all the same, "I'll talk to Winters in the morning."

"It's not going to do anything." Webster told him, seeming to be slightly more with it. Carwood was well aware that it wasn't going to do anything, but nothing was going to be gained if he didn't try. 

The grim look on Luz's face echoed Websters sentiment, and even though he couldn't see him from where he sat, Carwood was sure Skinny had the same expression on his face.  
When Carwood went to see Winters, the morning after the incident, the other man looked as if he knew exactly what was coming. He probably did, he'd been there when it had happened and even if he hadn't, news traveled fast in Currahee, and Ambrose Complex is general.

Winters gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Carwood sat down.

They stared at each other for a while, saying nothing, before Carwood snuck a look at the office building that Winters called home. It was a small, metal two story structure, much like the ones you used to find on building sites. This floor, the work space, was a five by five meter room, bare walls painted an off white color, and three filing cabinets of different shades of brown crammed into a corner. Winters also had a desk, it was a decent size, large enough to fit a computer and monitor, as well as one of those desk printers things. There was also a lot of paperwork, a pot of pens, a stapler and cordless telephone. 

"Sgt Lipton," Winters said, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit."

Carwood looked at the slight twist of the Lt.s mouth and decided to just go for it. 

"It's Sobel, Sir. He almost killed Web and has pushed several men to breaking point. Easy can't take it for much longer, someone's gonna end up either dead or seriously hurt."  
"Look, Sgt. I know this, I saw what happened to Web, I was there. But really, what do you think I can do about it?"

"There has to be something." Carwood pressed.

"I've talked to Sink about it before, and he's said there's nothing he can do to help, there's no reason to get rid of a perfectly good offic-"

"I'd hardly say Sobels perfectly good Sir." Carwood cut in, "And that was before the Webster incident, it's got to be different now."

"I doubt it." Winters looked as glum as Carwood felt, "I'll try again when I go to see him later, I'm not making any promises that there will be change."

"Thank you Sir." Carwood felt some relief at Winters' words, at this point it was all up to Sink.

"If that's all Sgt. I have rather a lot of paperwork to complete." Winters waved a hand at the paper on the desk. It did look to be an overwhelming amount.

"Yes, sorry. That was all." Carwood rose and saluted. He turned to leave, but stopped before he reached the door, and turned back to look at Winters, "I've talked to some of the other non-coms."

"Huh?" Winters looked up at Carwood and blinked.

"We all agree that we can't serve under Sobel any more, if he isn't gone soon enough we'll quit."

And with that, he left the office. 

The trek across Currahee was a miserable one, the sea wind blasted between the tents and buildings, and grey clouds were beginning to give way to rain. Carwood tightened his coat around his body. The wind howled harder. Marshy grass squelched under boots, and mud splattered up his trouser legs and covered the boot lace that had come loose.   
He passes into Easy territory, the section of the mobile home units that are completely filled with the mismatched company. The door of one of the homes opens, and Guarnere hails him over.

"You speak to Winters then, Lip?" He said. He placed a ciggarette into the corner of his mouth, and set it alight with a bright green plastic lighter. 

"Just on my way back, actually." Carwood nodded to the Corporals almost empty lighter, "You need some more fluid for that?"

"Nah, got a canister from one of the civvies. Winters gonna talk to Sink?"

"Yeah."

"It ain't gonna do jack shit you know." Guarnere looked almost wise as he leant at the doorjamb, exhaling the acrid cigarette smoke. Carwood coughed. He had weak lungs nowadays, after the pneumonia.

"Well yeah, but that's not Winters' fault. Oh, and I told him about the other non-coms too, how we won't stand for Sobel for much longer."

"Good, good. Should give Sink some food for thought." Carwood laughed, because yeah, maybe it would, "Ya know Lip, we could always see if Speirs would do some bodily harm to Sobel, that might put the son of a bitch out of action."

"Let's not do that," Carwood said with a snort and a shake of his head, "Anyway, I'd best be off, see you later Bill."

Bill gave him a lazy salute as he continued on his way. Winding through the maze of mobile homes and people till he reach his own. In the home next to it, Speirs rested on his balcony, staring into the sky. His gaze left the sky and landed on Carwood as he approached. 

"How's Webster?" Speirs asked.

"He's doing well. A little concussion but that was to be expected."

"Good," Speirs said slowly, "That's good."

Carwood stood, blinking at Speirs for a few moments before he started digging around in his uniform pockets. Speirs watched, unabashed. It took a few tries, but eventually he found the packet of cigarettes and chucked them at the other man.

"Here." Speirs caught them one handed. He ripped open the packet, selected one, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth before sliding the pack into his pocket.

"Got a light?" He inquired. Carwood did. He took his fathers, probably stolen, zippo lighter and struck the flame. It flickered under Speirs' ciggarette before bursting to life and lighting it. "Thanks."

"No problem." Speirs didn't offer the cigarette to Carwood. By now he knew that Lipton would say no, and didn't see the point in offering out of politeness and appearence. He stayed quiet, and instead threw Carwood a small, warm, smile. 

It was a good smile. Carwood was grateful for it.

 

All activities were cancelled over the next few days. No one complained, but no one was particularly excited either. 

"It can only mean bad things," Skip lamented to Penkala from the couch. Penkala didn't say anything back, just flopped onto his face and groaned. They'd both gotten spectacularly drunk the previous night, and Penkala hadn't yet slept it off.

Carwood sat at the table, reading a paper. It was an old paper, from 2009. One of the civilians collected them, and had given one to Carwood as a thank you for helping mend a leak in the roof. It was not particularly interesting, but there was something comforting knowing something this old would continue to survive.

Luz was out, as were Skinny and Webster. Enjoying the lack of things to do, Carwood supposed. It was peaceful. Mostly.

"It probably means we're all going to die." 

"We're not going to die yet Skip." Carwood told him, quite confident in that statement at that point.

"Well no." Skip rolled to face Carwood, "But we will soon. Not seeing Sobel in four days has to be a sign that something bad is up. It's probably a death omen."

"It's not a death omen."

"How would you know it's not a death omen. Have you even seen a death omen?"

"Ron said that the higher ups were having some sort of discussion," Carwood flicked over the page, "Reshuffling things and the like."

"Oh, oh I see. It's Ron now is it?" Skip sat up, wicked grin stretching his mouth. Even Penkala perked up slightly.

"That's the part of the sentence you fixate on?"

"Speirs is a creepy dude Lip, don't know what you see in him. But hey, if Speirs says it's not a death omen, then Speirs says it's not a death omen. I fucking hope he's right."

Carwood didn't say, but he hoped the same thing. It'll be fine, he reassured the men when they popped by, and told them the same thing he'd told Muck and Penkala. They seemed to take him at his word, although none of them particularly trusted Speirs. 

As it was, it wasn't a death omen. But it wasn't too far off either.

Because, as it turned out, the army thought they were just the people to drop out of planes. Out of planes, into a warzone. Carwood was very glad he wasn't scared of heights. Everyone in the company he had told not to worry, began to worry. And then worried a bit more.

None of them wanted to be thrown out a plane. Especially not into a warzone (that wasn't really a warzone at that point in time, but it would be one, and that was what mattered). Not to mention none of them knew how to do it, at least not safely.

"Any old person can jump out a plane," Webster said, "It's those who can do it and survive that really matter."

"I'm presuming they're going to give us parachutes." Skinny added.

"I fucking hope so, or I'll be less Perconte and more pancake." Perconte complained. All in all, the news was not taken well, but it could have been a lot worse. Or so Carwood supposed anyway. No one had yet fainted, or thrown up such a hissy fit that he had to be excused, so he counted it as a success.

Another success, at least in Easy's eyes, was that Sobel was no longer going to be training them. Winters and people who knew how to jump out of planes safely, were their new commanding officers.

Easy Company got incredibly drunk that night to show their support of this decision.

"We're going to be paratroopers." Carwood said to nobody in particular. It fell on deaf ears, everyone was too drunk.

"I'm going to die." Skip said to everyone. 

"Three cheers to that." Everyone said back. Carwood rolled his eyes, he didn't plan on dying any time soon, and neither did anyone here, or so he hoped. 

Carwood didn't get drunk. Neither did Webster, although he younger man was slightly tipsy when he wandered over to where Carwood stood, untouched beer pint in front of him.

"We're going to be paratroopers." He told Carwood solemnly. 

"We are indeed." 

"I don't like heights." Webster looked not in the slightest bit worried about this. Carwood wondered if it was the alcohol or maybe Websters pride.

"Not liking heights as a paratrooper is not a particularly useful trait."

"The way I figure it, as a paratrooper you are doing you're best to not be at a height, which is what i'd be doing anyway. So really it works out either way."

Carwood decided to not try and fault that incredibly faulty logic. He felt proud of his restraint. 

Becoming a paratrooper, however, is not as east as just learning how to pull a parachute. There are all sorts of things that need to be taught. From when to pull it, to how to maneuver in it, to how to jump from the plane. Then there was weight restrictions and what not. Honestly, it was far and away the most stressful training Carwood had received from the army yet.

Speirs was also training with them. This confused Carwood at first, since Speirs was in Dog company and Dog company was going to be just ground infantry. He asked Nixon one day, when he had caught the dark haired officer hanging around one of the training sessions.

"Lip." Nixon had said to him seriously, "Speirs hasn't been in Dog Company for months. He's been an Easy Officer since you became his friend."

And that had been the end of that.

Speirs trained, not with Easy, but as part of Easy. And Easy learnt how to jump out of planes the safe way, and how to do all the things that paratroopers needed to learn how to do to jump safely. And when the training finished, they got their Jump Wings. 

The Jump Wings were small, embroidered things. But everyone in Easy spent that night sewing onto each of their uniform sleeves the Jump Wings. They had also been given a metal Jump Wing that was sort of a pin, but not really. This could be moved from uniform to uniform, and no paratrooper with Jump Wings was seen walking with out it. They also got a new Cap Badge for their berets.

The cap badges were freshly manufactured and designed, as was all the BRAMCA uniforms.

As the army was no longer divided by nation, but was made of one large BRAMCA nation (no, Carwood didn't understand it either), they had designed new uniforms for everyone. The main military OD's were the same for each section in the navy, but berets and cap badges had been redone. As had many regimental patches and identities. 

Berets were all different shades of blue. The Combined Air Force got sky blue, Territorial Army got a shade of royal blue that matched the upper arm bands everyone in the CEF (combined expeditionary force) had to wear. The navy got, to no ones surprise, the navy blue berets, and most other regiments got varying shades of duck egg and turquoise. It reminded Carwood very much of the UN, but without the peacekeeping part.

The Paratroopers, as the newest part of this already 'just got off the production line' army, were given berets with a camouflage pattern. A mix of the darker, muddier blues. The silver cap badge shone brightly against the dark fabric.

They were not treated any different from the other units, at least not that they could see. No extra food, or better lodgings. There may have been a pay boost, but seeing as no one saw how much they got paid in the first place, it was hard to guess. 

Not that it mattered, no one is Easy particularly cared about special treatment, as long as they got fed and had a place to sleep. Simple pleasures, as Luz called it. The whole thing, as a whole, was rather anti climatic. Mostly due to one, very significant reason.

There was no war.

Oh there had been a war, and there was going to be another very soon, they all knew it. Every piece of news they got from the higher ups of BRAMCA told them that war was on the horizon. That the bastards who invaded their homes were going to get what was owed to them (a great big whoop in the backside) and that the Americans and British and so on, where going to destroy any opposition it had. Which was all well and good, but the war wasn't there yet, and wouldn't be there for the foreseeable future.

The BRAMCA government had on it's hands at Ambrose, a well oiled fighting machine, fresh out the oven and ready to kick some ass. But no ass to kick (officially at least).

And so what the government did, was leave them be. The paratrooper training ceased, as did the tactical and recon stuff. Everything but the physical exercise and occasional field exercise ground to a sudden halt. Easy suddenly had a lot of free time on their hands.

Carwood spent most of this time talking, visiting his men or civilians. He tried to find work in the offices, and Nixon managed to find him some paperwork to fill out. But there was never very much paperwork to do, and he still found himself with long stretches of time where there was nothing to do. They all did. 

For Webster, it meant time reading, writing, or arguing with Leibgott. Luz spent most of his time either walking around the compound with Carwood, or doing things with Toye and Perconte. There were jokes, and mischief, but things were strained. Tempers were running high, and there had been more than a few black eyes in the past days, Carwood expected more to come.

He was running at his wits end, and he wasn't the only one. Something had to happen, and it did. 

Two weeks after they cancelled all their training Easy Company found out they were being put on leave - indefinetely.


	3. If we will Drown Tonight

The rest stop looked the same as the last three Carwood had driven through. Tattered, windswept. Empty.

He pulled the car, a rental from the compound back in Florida, to a halt beside one of the gas pumps. He climbed out and looked at the meter, it wasn't empty, thank god.He filled up the car, probably too much, before slotting the nozzle back into the pump. 

He'd been on leave for a little over a month now, and he hadn't stopped driving since he got the car and left the base. At first, being back in America had felt freeing. It was warm here, and he liked that it hardly rained or howled a gale here. But he missed Easy, he missed his men and the cosy tightness of the mobile home. He even missed the punishing training regimes. After all, it had been something beyond the mindless passing of mile after mile. He had no destination. He just drove.

As he drove, he had visited many rest stops like this one, some with gas, some without. Some manned with people, some without. Most civilians lived in the compounds now, but there were some who still stayed out in the country. Alone, isolated. They'd move into compounds eventually, but for now they were staying put.

This rest stop, although deserted of customers, looked like someone actually was still running the little coffee place. And jesus, Carwood could go for a coffee right about then.  
Locking the car, a habit rather than a necessity, he walked over. Eager to see if there was some food he could buy, or a cup of coffee or something to tide him over till he reached a place to rest. The door had one of those signs, the ones you flip to say 'open' or 'closed'. It said 'open'.

He pushed open the door, and was greeted by the wrinkled face of an old lady and a younger girl, both sitting behind the cracked counter. The old lady smiled at him with gappy teeth. The girl looked shocked he was here at all.

"Hello young man." The older lady said, "You're out in the middle of nowhere now, aren't you."

It was not a question. Carwood shrugged.

"I've been in worse places."

"Damn straight." The lady cackled, "This place has food too, what can I get you young man?"

"Uh." He faltered, he had no idea what they had, and wasn't the kind to presume. Like a fish, he opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out.

"He doesn't 'ave a clue, poor soul." The younger girl drawled, "Give 'im some pancakes and coffee you batty woman, can't go wrong there."

Carwood wasn't given time to agree or tell her no, as the older lady was gone halfway through the girls statement. Shaking his head, he went up to the counter, and sat himself down on one of the bar stools, ripped red leather and rusted metal. The girl smiled at him, she was missing a few teeth too.

"I'm Missy." She introduced herself, "And you're one of 'em Army fella's ain't ya?"

"Carwood Lipton, and I am, yes." He raised his eyebrows at her, "How'd you know?"

"You walk like my Daddy used to, and he in the Air Force." She wiggled her eyebrows, "And I'm a clever little girl." 

Carwood snorted, and flashed a smile. "Paratrooper actually."

"It's all in the air ain't it, same difference really." If Toye, or Buck had heard her say that, they would have had heart palpitations. As it is, Carwood doesn't care either way.

He has never been protective of the army like that, not like some people in Easy. To him, it's a job, something he chose to do not because he felt like it was the right thing to do, but because it was better than whatever civilian life had to offer him. Others - Buck, Guarnere, Toye - joined for duty, for fighting for what was right, for fighting in general. There are some people, Webster, Skinny and even Luz, who joined for no reason other than they could. Like Lipton, what more did life outside the military offer them?

Not this. The freedom to drive and just drive, no destination, no plans. Just a road, himself and a deadline. Be back by September, they'd been told. Earlier if you want, but not before the two months was over. 

But two months was a heck of a long time when you've been training in the military for close to a year. When all you did before that was drive. 

Carwood finds he doesn't miss it. This does not come as a surprise. 

"Anyway," Missy said, "You just 'ave that look about ya. Did ya fight in the Invasion Mr Lipton?"

"No, I was in hospital." He's thrown by the question, feel ashamed to say he's never been into combat yet. 

"In 'ospital? Lucky thing you are, my daddy was in the Invasion, 'is plane got shot out the sky." There's not much Carwood can say to that, so he says nothing. Silence falls over them again, until the old lady bustles in from the kitchen, a plate of pancakes in one hand, a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

"There we go young man." She set the plate and mug down in front of him. Some of the coffee slopped down the side and only the counter when she set it down. The pancakes were swimming in maple syrup. 

"Thank you Ma'am." He took the knife and fork that Missy offered him, and dug in. The coffee wasn't bad, a little too sweet for his taste. Luz would have liked it, he always took his coffee black, with one sugar. Webster usually put some creamer in, but didn't like sugar, Skinny and Skip took theirs any which way, and Penkala didn't drink coffee. Toye took his pure black, like Carwood himself. Speirs dumped half the pot of sugar in his, as well as three or four pots of creamer, blonde and sweet. ('Like it how he likes his men eh' Nixon would tell Carwood)  
The pancakes were good, not dry but a little overcooked. Again, overly sweet but Carwood wouldn't complain. Food was food.

He polished it all off in no time, a little erked by the hawkish way he watched by Missy and the old lady. The plate, once scraped clean, was instantly whisked away and placed out the back. The coffee, still piping hot, burnt his tongue as he swallowed it in a few hasty gulps.

Pulling out his wallet, he goes to ask how much, but Missy waves him off.

"It's on the 'ouse. Thanks for your service an' all." 

Carwood wants to tell her that he hasn't seen combat. That he's on indefinite leave. That he's fired a gun only at targets and has never, not once, killed a man. He wants to tell her that he doesn't want to see combat, doesn't want to kill a man. Lies awake at night sometimes in fear of what he might one day have to do. Sees in his mind, the premature image of a shadowy man, with frightened eyes and murder in his step. Then a bullet between his eyes and he's dead on the ground and it's Carwood who killed him, Carwood who shot that bullet and that man is dead and it's all Carwoods fault, and...and..and...

He doesn't tell her. 

He nods his thanks, and gets off the seat. 

"Thank you." He tells them, "I appreciate your kindness, really. That was the best chow I've had in a while."

The old lady smiles a gummy smile, and waves him on his way. The walk back to that car is too hot, and Carwood shrugs off his jacket on the way there. The car is too hot too, the back of the seat burns through his thin t-shirt. The steering wheel has baked in the sun, and he automatically pulls away from it at first. It takes him a moment, but then he's off.  
The sun is setting as he pulls away from the rest stop. He doesn't know where he's headed. He's got three and a half weeks before he's meant to be back in Florida, where he'll either head back to England, or be given more leave. He hopes it's not the latter.

There's a crumpled up piece of paper in his jacket pocket; Come see me Lip, meet the family. Toye will be there too. Just give it some thought. In spidery, black ink. Luz's note to him before they parted ways. There's an address, some town outside of (insert luzs town). 

He could go, see Luz and Toye. It'll almost be like in the hospital again, in the sun bathed beds with nothing to do, nowhere to go but with good company. He makes up his mind with only a second of hesitation. He stops the car right where it is in the middle of the road, pulls out a map, plots his route, and heads off.  
The road stop looks the same, even heading in the opposite direction. 

 

Luz's family lived in a ranch style house, it's painted blue on the outside. The same color as the CAF berets. There's a dead tree to the less, a little less dead tree to the right. The porch paint is peeling, and one of the windows is cracked a little.

But Luz runs out the porch when he pulls into the drive, and Toye is right behind him. And they look the same, maybe more tanned than before. Carwood has missed them, he didn't realised quite how much until that second. He's pulled into a hug the second he steps out the car, and there's a smile on his face as Toye engulfs him too.  
"Have you heard the news?" Is the first thing out of Luz's mouth.

"The news?" 

"Yeah. They're cutting our leave short." Carwood's mind grinds to a halt. There'd only be one reason they'd cut it short, and Carwood had been carefully avoiding those thoughts since they'd touched down in America.

"Fucking hell Luz, let him get inside before you break it to him." Toye admonished, tugging them both towards the house, "Luz has a nice place here, even though it's basically been abandoned."

"It's not abandoned." Luz protested. Carwood had to laugh, these two never changed. They drag him inside, leave his duffel by the door and seat him at the table. Luz pushes a coffee into his hands, there's sugar in it, slightly too sweet. 

They sit for a few moments. Carwood sips the coffee, Luz watches. Toye just looks around awkwardly.

"So, leave has been cut short?" Carwood prompts.

"Yeah, we got the message this morning, a text from Nix." Luz wafts his mobile phone in Carwood's face, "You didn't get it?"

"My phones ran out of charge." He shrugs, "Had nowhere to charge it on the road."

"Good job you came here then, because we need to be heading off in the next day or so. You can give us a lift." 

"Sounds like you've made up your mind then. Why've they cut it so short?" Carwood already knows the answer to this question. He asks it anyway.

"War, Lip." Toye's eyes sparkle with excitement, "They've got a plan apparently, we're heading off to England, and then we're off to war."

Carwood takes a sobering swig of his coffee, and mustered up a half smile. He's not excited, he doesn't know why anyone would be excited about war. About the death and murder that accompany it.

"It's what we've been waiting for." He remarked.

"Finally time to kick those assholes in the backside." Toye agrees. Which, wasn't quite what Carwood meant.

"You don't look that happy about it Lip."

Carwood didn't answer, just stared into his coffee. Luz seemed to understand, and left him be. Not everyone wanted war quite as badly as these two, Carwood could name a few from Easy off the top of his head, and he would bet there were others. 

"Drink up, and then we'll settle you in. You need to be full strength if you're chauffeuring us to Florida Lip." Luz said with a wink, and no more was said on the topic of war. Not for then, at least.

They set off a few days later, with two weeks still left of their leave. They cram into Carwood's rental car, bags in the boot, Carwood driving, Toye in shotgun and Luz in the back. The drive is long, and arduous. The sun beats down, the car is like an oven, and Luz had never been good at shutting up. By the time they make it down to Florida, Carwood has had so many headaches it is a wonder he has any painkillers left at all.

There's a clean shaven man at the entrance pillbox, half asleep with his feet up on the door knob. He looks blearily at them through half closed eyes, vaguely sees the rank stripes on Carwood's uniform, and lets them through. They trundle towards the docks, passing other members of companies heading the same way.

It's almost like de ja vu when they pull up outside the building, and go through to see the aides. This time, they have more than just a place and a name. They have ID. The process is quicker, and they're though within minutes.

Carwood see's Webster and Leibgott hovering by one of the large doors, seemingly waiting for them. They're bickering, nothing unusual there, but it petered to a stop when Carwood drew near.

"Sgt Lipton." Webster said. He looks nervous. Carwood knew how he felt.

"Web, how was your leave?" 

"Not exactly awe inspiring if I'm honest. I'm not sure if I'm glad to be back or not." Something tugs at Carwoods heartstrings at Websters expression, and claps him solidly on the shoulder. 

Luz and Toye join them, and the five of them delve into the packed crowd of the docks and airfield. It's a different compound to the one that first took them to England, but it still feels the same. They're in a Chinook again too, and as they join the waiting crowd of Easy, Carwood could feel the wind from the helo's rotors ruffle his hair. 

He spots Nixon up near the rear ramp of the Chinook, Winters is next to him, he looks on edge. A stark comparison to the laughing, relaxed atmosphere that Easy Company exuded. These were men who had been waiting for war for months, some had been waiting for years. The were at the starting line of the rest of their lives, chomping at the bit and ready to go.

Even Carwood, who really didn't care much for the horrors, and myteries of war, was eager to get it over with. To go in, beat the Enemy back, and return the world back to some sort of normalcy. Whatever normal was anymore anyway. 

The excitement ran through the men all the way to England, and they were rowdy as the chopper landed at MONTY #5. They jostled and pushed through the docks, and practically ran back to Currahee Sector. Being back here, in the rain and wind with the cloudy grey skies stretch above them, felt familiar and homely. This time though, it held more significance, this time the entry to England meant one thing and one thing only. War.

They're in the same mobile homes as before, and when Carwood enters his, Webster and Luz at his back, it's like any other day back with Sobel. 

"Well." Webster says, as he pushed past Carwood and into the home, "Looks like we're back here again."

The lights flicker on half a second later, and nothing has changed. Carwood hadn't expected anything less. He realised he's still stood in the doorway, staring, when Luz also pushes past with a smile and a 'Come on Lip, get on it.'

Carwood dumps his bag in his and Luz's room, and checks the fridge. It's fully stocked. God bless the British BRAMCA staff.

Skip and Penkala come barreling through not five seconds after he closes the fridge door, out of breath and red in the face. Neither are wearing coats. Both are soaked. 

"Christ Lip." Skip pants, "It's really fucking raining out there, can't say I'm glad to be back in Britain for the weather."

"It's a little bit of rain," Webster remarks from his room at the other end of the home, "Surely you get that in whatever hick town you lived in."

"Fuck you too Web." Skip shakes he head, flicking drops of rain from his hair everywhere. 

Skinny eventually wanders in, about a half hour after all of them. He'd been visiting the other guys (read: Shifty Powers) when the rain had started coming down heavily. 

"So." Skinny finished off, "I stayed where I was until it chilled off."

"Mmmmhmmm." Carwood said. Skinny didn't say anything back, just flipped him the bird and sunk down into the sofa with Webster. The two of them, and Skip and Penkala, were like puppies curled up together in the last night of peace before training began again. Then after training, it was off into the warzone. When would be the next time they got to have a night like this? Carwood didn't know.

Everyone was restless that night, and the six of them went to bed far later than they should have. Skip had drunk the small amount of alcohol allotted to them, the rest had declined the bottle. Being hungover when training begun again was not a desirable thought.

And the training. The training was grueling. 

Every night Carwood would come back to his mobile home, brain bursting, lagging behind, and his body aching. He'd collapse in his bed and fall straight asleep, forgoing any food until much later in the evening. When he'd shower, quickly in the allotted 5 minutes for each of the six of them, he'd find new bruises all over his body. Large purpling ones on his shoulders and arms, small green-yellow ones on knees and elbows. 

For Carwood, and most of the other men, training was much the same as it had been before the Leave. Basic tactic lessons, along with a refresher of the paratrooping training, long physical exercise sessions to make sure they were still in good shape. They were taught how to drive the vehicles they would use in the warzone; everyone had to learn as there was no certainty that designated drivers would always be readily available. How to assemble, shoot, disassemble and clean the variations of guns that would be given to them.

But there were some who were given specialist training too. Gene Roe was pulled aside with Ralph Spina, and both were told that they were going to be medics, and that they were going to receive medical training. As far as Carwood knew, they hadn't had a choice.

Shifty Powers had been taken aside for a few days and trained with an Old Army Sniper. He came back a better shot than ever, and he'd already been damn good.

There were several men who were taught how to shoot anti-tank, and how to fire anti-air. Proposed squad leaders, platoon leaders and company leaders were taught how the BRAMCA issue grenade launchers worked. 

Carwood was amongst a few that were taught about the vehicles and how to go about fixing them. His engineering education (small as it was) and mechanic background gave him a head start against the other boys. Along with his Squad Leading duties, he was told that he was going to be one of the lead engineers. Carwood was not an engineer, was not even close to one. He wished they had got someone qualified to take the task. 

Luz was one they gave radio training to, not the small handheld kind that everyone got taught to use, but the larger, more complicated kind. The smaller man would spend nights reading a thick manual, trying to drill into his mind the rules and codes he had to learn.

All this they learnt in a month, for a month was all they had before the plan was ready to be put into action.

It was Nix who breifed them, in a large warehouse building with open doors that let a summery breeze mingle between the men. They'd been provided with chairs, a surprising luxury.

The first thing they were told, was who exactly they were fighting. Because, up until that point all they knew about the Enemy was that they were bad, and deserved to die. That they'd invaded Carwoods country amongst others, and that they needed to be brought to task. What country they came from had been a mystery.

But no longer. The Enemy, as they had become known in BRAMCA, were a collection of countries, ranging from Korea (combined now, as the North had Annexed the south), the majority of the Middle East, large chunks of Asia, Spain and Portugal. 

"You're being dropped in the Middle East first," Nix said, "The spearhead of the whole attack. At the border of Iran is where you'll go in, recon has shown that large amounts of the enemy leadership will be in the next week or so. This includes a good portion of the military, and many tactical advisers. What we need are these people dead."

Nix turned to a large map hung on the wall behind him, and pointed to a vaguely hexagonal yellow blob just inside Iran's border.

"The rest of the invasion force will be behind you, but you need to disable this meeting, and the compounds around it including an airfield, in order for the attack to go ahead. If you can't, then there's no way that the attacking force behind you will be able to survive. It'll be wiped out before it could cross the Iran Border. You'll be split into four or so platoons, each will be dropped at the same LZ, but each will have a different target."

"What are the different platoons, and who's in them?" Someone shouted from the back of the room.

"Yeah, why the fuck are you splitting us up." Another yelled.

"Splitting the company into four means hardly fourty to a platoon!"

"We'll be minced up!"

"You're sending us on a suicide mission!"

The complaints came thick and fast, and before long the briefing had descended into madness. Carwood felt sorry for Nix, who's yells could barely be heard over the clamour.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" 

Silence.

Carwood turned to Speirs, who had been seated behind him, and raised an eyebrow. The other man shrugged and sat back down.

"Thank you." Nix said wryly, "Now, if you had let me explain. We are well aware of the risks of the plan, but we have no other choice. You're the only company we could spare to teach how to parachute, and you only have a certain amount of people in. You're just going to have to deal with it."

"The platoons," Another officer, Meehan, cut in, " Have already been decided, you'll learn of your postings in due time. First Platoon and Second Platoon will be hitting the building and forces containing the meeting of the leaders. Third Platoon will be striking the airfield. Forth Platoon and Company HQ will he going for one of the enforced towns to the west, it's a critical stronghold and if we want our armored divisions to be able to pass, we've got to hold it."

"Company HQ," Nix took back over, "Will consist of Lt Meehan, Lt Winters, the Easy Intelligence division, a communications officer and some sort of heavy anti tank capabilities. Each platoon will be equiped with the same sort of anti tank, anti air and communications technologies."

He surveyed the restless crowd in front of him.

"If everything goes to plan we leave in three days. Get ready boys, it's time to show those bastards who they messed with."

Carwood stayed rooted to his seat as everyone filed out, staring at the map on the other side of the room. They finally had a destination, a place they were aiming for, and people to aim at. It felt a long time coming.

He sat for a few minutes, believing the room to be empty, just breathing. Every breath a reminder that he was alive, and god knew how long that would keep up. Eyes closed he thought about the men, his men, in Easy Company. Some of them would die, that was guaranteed in war, but the thought still made him wince.

"Sgt." A soft voice from behind, "Let's go."

He let Speirs lead him out the building.

"A lot of men are going to die." He tells Speirs, certain he knows this anyway.

"That's what usually happens in war, yes." Carwood rolls his eyes at the sarcasm.

"But this will be people we know, people we've trained with and become friends with."

"That's why you don't make friends with people, become a company member not a friend to them. Less pain that way, friendship is a sufferance in war. It's why I don't make them."  
Speirs' words bring Carwood to a halt, and it feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured from his head to his toes.

"You're friends with me." He protests quietly. Although 'friends' might be pushing it slightly, he still calls Spiers 'Sir', after all.

"You're not going to die, Carwood." Is Speirs' answer, and they say no more on the matter. There's a quiet reassurance in Speirs words and warm tone, even though Carwood knows it's foolish to believe them with no question. After all, there is no certainty in war.

They hurry on, and Carwood figures that Speirs, being someone who could platoon lead, should know more about the plan than he would. It would be a lie to say this information wasn't something Carwood wanted to know, and he was sure his bunk mates would appreciate the information too.

"Sir, the split platoons..." He trails off, not knowing quite where he wanted to go with this.

"You're in Fourth, as are most of your friends." Speirs tells him, without further prompting.

"How do you know?" Carwood asks, as they draw to a stop beside Speirs' mobile home.

"Because," Speirs unlocks his door and flashes Carwood a smile, "That's my platoon too."

When Spiers said that Fourth was his platoon, it was something of a stretch. Fourth, being the one dropping with Company HQ, will officially be lead by Winters, and Carwood sees no problem with this. Winters has always been the best of the best, connecting with the Company like no other, and the men of Fourth platoon were happier than punch to find out he was their leader. Spiers was Alpha Squad leader, Carwood had Charlie. Buck, Bull and Bill were the other squad leaders.

Winters took Fourth's brief, in a smaller warehouse than last time, as only 40 people needed to be briefed, rather than the 160 odd that made up Easy Company as a whole.

"We're attacking Cadriar, it's a stronghold town, and holds the best route for our ground infantry and armour to travel further into Iran. It's vital we take it."

He took the time to look everyone in the eye, before redirecting attention to the map pinned up next to him. "We're dropping the furthest away from our target, and we'll have to traverse their territory to reach it. Infact, it's likely we'll be under heavy fire the whole way there, but we have to drop at that LZ, we've been given no choice. We don't have a concrete plan. Plans are all well and good before the attack, but when we get there it's expected the plan will go out the window. But as a contingecy, here's the general idea.   
"There's one way into Cadriar. One way in, and it's likely it'll be highly fortified, but we have no choice. Alpha and Bravo will go up the left of the road, Charlie and Delta up the right. Echo will hang behind."

Guarnere made a displeased noise at that bit of information, but shut up when Toye elbowed him in the ribs.

"We'll advance into the town in these groups, and we'll keep to those groups. Alpha and Bravo will take and clear the left side of town, Charlie and Delta the right. Echo will provide covering fire until we are in, and then they will join us."

Winters looks up, "It's not a great plan, and there'll be amendments, but it's what we've got for now. We'll be going in under the cover of darkness, but recon says there are AA capabilities, so we've got to be on guard."

Thus concluded the only briefing Easy Company, Fourth Platoon got on their mission. They were, to put it simply, under briefed. Everyone, from the privates to the Lt's, had very little idea of what was going to happen, and there was the idea that the whole mission was really just going to have to be done 'winging it'. For soldiers who have never seen combat before, it was as exciting and frightful prospect. Carwood wasn't looking forward to it. Not in the slightest.

He spent the last night before they were due to fly out sitting on the steps to his mobile home, cigarette in hand, just watching it burn down to a stump. Then, when it finished burning, he'd light another one, and go through it all again.

"Fucking waste of ciggarettes." Luz commented. But he didn't try to stop Carwood, just left him be and went inside to drink and joke with Skip and Penkala.   
For once it was not raining, the sky was clear, and the stars were out. It seemed to be a good sign.

In less than 24 hours they would be gone, off in a plane about to jump into Iran. Carwood didn't want to admit it, but they were underprepared. Oh, they were all training to a standard higher than anything before. But in terms of a plan, of knowing what to expect? They might as well have gone in blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you spot any mistakes or have an criticisms please leave a comment, I'm always looking for constructive feedback.
> 
> Cadriar isn't an actual Irani town, I used creative licence because it's easier for world building or whatever.
> 
> If you have any questions find me on my tumblr at; therealfakequebec 
> 
> Thanks 
> 
> x


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